


Well, This is Awkward

by ItsALilah



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker (kinda) - Freeform, Angst with a side of crack, Awkward Space Virgin Rey, Canon Compliant, Dedicated to the Sprinter Bot, F/M, Force Bonds, Inappropriate Use of the Force, May Become a Series, One Shot, The Force Ships It, The Sacred Texts!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 08:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsALilah/pseuds/ItsALilah
Summary: Force Bonds are a real pain in the ass. Just ask Rey. Rey's determined to find a way to control (or better yet, break) the obnoxious and still going Force Bond between her and Kylo Ren. The sacred Jedi texts she liberated from Luke Skywalker aren't helping at all when she finds a small, black notebook belonging to someone with the initials "AS".Naturally, she reads it.Wackiness ensues.





	Well, This is Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd and all my fault.

Once upon a time, Rey stumbled upon an old, fading holochron filled with youngling’s tales. She’d retrieved the boxy device from the skinned skeleton of yet another Star Destroyer left to rot in Jakku’s merciless sands. It was the kind of device that carried no value; too childish and trivial for the likes of Niima Outpost and Unkar Plutt. But when Rey found it, a child just entering her eleventh year in life, she couldn’t resist pocketing it in her robes for safekeeping. She took it with her and watched that flickering blue holochron in the safety of her AT-AT that very night, immersing herself in fairy tales about princesses in towers and bold smugglers coming to rescue them. The holochron became her nightly escape, and Rey would replay the stories over and over until the holochron’s energy source finally died. Leaving her without an escape until she finally jumped planet, embarking on an adventure of her own. 

Right now, Rey feels like that princess from the stories, locked away in a tower. 

Yet another sign of how topsy-turvy her life’s become over the last few months, she thinks with a soft snort.

She’s not locked in a tower, _per se_ , more like gently banished by the well-meaning General Organa to complete her research. She’s not in a tower, either; she’s in a small library overlooking verdant woods and sapphire blue waters. Warm, soft sunlight streams into the window, creating a nice hotspot on a ridiculously plush couch for Rey to curl up with the galaxy’s driest and least entertaining books ever. 

Books. Rey finally has her hands on real, actual books, filled with actual _paper_ , for kriff’s sake. Not just any books, but the sacred Jedi texts she’d “borrowed” from Luke Skywalker and the first Jedi Academy. 

Books that were both ridiculously valuable, and yet, probably not even worth a quarter-portion on Jakku. 

Books that Rey had been assigned to read, here in this ornately decorated room, by the legendary General Leia Organa herself. Books that might hold the key to the Resistance’s victory, to her freedom, to ending all of the struggles of the galaxy.

And yet here Rey is, struggling to make it through half a damn chapter without stabbing herself in the eye with the nearest pointy object.

With a forlorn sigh, Rey rests her bended elbows on the windowsill, letting her chin rest on her forearms so she can look outside. There’s not much to see, outside of a landscape that’s still too green to be old for a desert dweller like Rey. During the day, most Resistance members stay safely tucked in the walls of Varykino to avoid detection by First Order surveillance. So far, they’ve been left undisturbed in this ancient family estate (of who’s family, Rey’s not quite sure), but one can never be too cautious when it comes to the enemy. 

Or Kylo Ren. 

Rey immediately pushes that thought out of her mind. She narrows her eyes and focuses on the tall trees up the hill, hazel irises searching for the tell-tale camouflage of the Resistance sentry. Today it’s Poe and Finn scanning the surrounding lake for any sign of activity, of potential danger. If any’s detected, the _Falcon’s_ hidden under layers of camo-cloth and piled brush on the other side of the hill for a quick escape. The freighter’s parked at a precarious angle that makes Rey worry that one night, she’ll be awakened to a giant splash. 

So far, the old girl’s held.

A gentle breeze wafts through the room, flipping the pages of the open tome in Rey’s lap. It means she’s lost her spot, and she’d be more upset if she actually was learning anything useful from these books. 

Like how to break a Force Bond. Or form one. Or even control one. 

The only information on Force Bonds that Rey’s been able to gather insofar aren’t very revelatory. In fact, Rey can list what the books say about Force Bonds on one hand:

1\. They range in strength and power (Duh);  
2\. They are allegedly hard to create (Rey takes special issue with this one for… reasons);  
3\. All documented Force Bonds have been created by the Force itself, due to the sheer amounts of power required (Meaning Snoke was officially full of shit);  
4\. Powerful Force Bonds can allow Bonded persons to read each other’s minds and appear across space and time (No shit);  
5\. Nobody seems to have a single karking idea how they actually work (Kriffing fantastic).

Most of this is stuff Rey already knew or (strongly) suspected, but yet she continues to comb through them looking for something new. Some hidden gem that would help explain to her how in the everloving Force she, Rey, the Scavenger from Niima Outpost, became Force-bonded to Kylo Ren, neé Ben Solo, the current Supreme Leader of the First Order. 

Even better would be some hint as to how she could, at the ever least, be able to control their Force Bond enough to stop him from appearing at inopportune moments. Like strategy meetings or when she’s getting out of the ‘fresher. 

Rey’s cheeks burn with embarrassment as she recalls the most recent incident involving nudity. Of all the days to forget her towel, she groans, burying her face into her arms. 

She stays that way for a moment, letting the sunlight warm the back of her head and neck, the only parts of her body not covered by her standard Resistance-issued flight suit. Her grey tunic and capelet from Ahch-To are too warm for Naboo’s climate, and her clothes from Jakku fell apart the first time they were put in a sonic washer. Plus, the earth-toned flight suit allows her to blend in better. Rey can pretend she’s just another Resistance pilot when dressed like this, instead of the alleged Last Jedi everyone whispers about. 

Behind her, something falls to the ground with a thud. It’s quiet and rustling enough for Rey to know it’s a book from the shelves, and she barely reacts to the noise. She’s enjoying her peace in the sun too much, the warmth cocooning over her like a blanket. Her brain’s already exhausted with boredom, and sleep beckons her eyes shut. 

_Rey._

It’s a whisper in the Force, sending tingles up her spine. Her head shoots up, her back going rigid as she whips around, looking for the source of the sound. 

The room’s still as silence. Rey’s eyes dart around the room for a moment, before resting on a small, black book on the ground. It fell from a tiny, almost too-tight gap between _The Political Families of Naboo_ and _When Clothes Say It All: The Fashion of Naboo’s Queens_ , two books that might actually be even more boring than the Jedi texts. 

It’s a spot too tight to allow such a slender thing to fall out, Rey realizes. 

Slowly, she unfurls her body from the comfort of the couch to stand. Rey hesitates, worrying her lower lip between her teeth (most certainly not a habit she’d picked up from anyone, thank you), before she pads over to the fallen book on her tiptoes. She moves with a silent grace befitting a Scavenger. 

Electricity bolts through her fingers as they skim the leather bound book, the Force’s way of saying “Bingo.” With a shaking hand, Rey lifts it off the ground, looking for some marking or identification on its covers. There’s nothing except an embossed “AS” in the right corner of the front cover that’s in the same obsidian as the rest of the fabric. It’s so faint and worn that Rey almost misses it, and she has to squint to make out the letters. 

Part of her, the part of her that’s always wary of the Force (really, who can blame her at this point), tells her to put the book away and pretend she never saw it. Maybe take a break to walk the villa’s labryinth-like halls, get some space between her and the book. 

Rey’s always been too curious to listen to that side of her. Perhaps that’s why she keeps getting into these situations, but she’s too far in to stop now, she thinks. 

With a determined breath, Rey opens the book. It falls open to reveal lined pages and hand-written words in elegant calligraphy, the kind of writing that only an educated person could possess. 

The words immediately capture her attention.

_“Force Bonds are a most curious thing. None of the Council seems to know much about them, and the Jedi texts are (as always) absolutely useless on the subject. Still, I am curious about the forming of them. I already feel a deep Force connection to the twins, even though they’re not even full-term yet. Our girl calls to me more, and I can see that she’ll be the spitting image of her mother. Our son, however, is just as powerful as his sister, if not more. I can sense a weak Bond developing between them, one that will hopefully keep them safe. Still, I want to have one of my own with them, if only to prevent my nightmares from coming true. If we’re bonded, I can better protect all of my family. I just have to figure out how.”_

Rey immediately flips to the next page, hoping to find more information on Force Bonds. Unfortunately, this page just talks about the owner tinkering with his X-Wing and adding new thrusters to make it faster. It’s written in the same semi-sarcastic tone, with the occasional tangent about some barely relevant matter. 

_“OWK thinks I’m being silly. We’ll see what he says after I save his ass (again) in my customized X-Wing.”_

Rey can’t help but smile warmly, the sentiment reminding her of Poe Dameron and his beloved X-Wing. (It absolutely does not remind her of anyone else with a customized fighter and penchant for snark.)

She flips through some more pages, looking for more entries on Force Bonds. After a few more flips, she finds another entry, detailing all the attempts the writer’s made to forge one with his unborn twins. None of them were successful, he notes dourly, and he’s concerned about continuing and risking harming them - or his wife. Rey gathers from his writings that his wife is not Force-sensitive at all, and that this only feeds the writer’s fears for her. 

_“I fear something terrible will happen. I awaken every night screaming, even when she’s next to me. The sound of their three heartbeats is the only thing that allows me to go back to sleep, and even then, I cannot truly rest.”_

The journal also reveals its owner’s concerns that his marriage will be discovered by the Jedi Council, and the repercussions thereof. 

_“I dream that they slaughter her, and our children, in order to keep me in their fold and out of fear of my power. I want to believe that the Council could do no such thing, but after AT, how can I? I’ve seen the darkness growing in the Council, coloring their minds against me, against the reality of things now. Their blindness scares me, and they refuse to consider any alternatives given. I can’t help but think it’s because I’m the one suggesting them. They still see me as the slave-boy from Tatooine.”_

Something about this last bit tickles Rey’s brain, as if trying to trigger some connection she should be making. She bites her lip again as she searches her memory. Of course, Luke Skywalker was from Tatooine, but she’d always heard that he was some farm boy, not a slave. 

And how the Hell had a former slave from Tatooine’s journal ended up in a Nabian villa’s library, for kriff’s sakes?

Rey’s ears pop as what little sound there was in the library is suddenly vacuumed away. The noise of her own breaths and heartbeat are amplified as the Force crackles with tension. 

Of course the Force chooses to open their Bond right kriffing now. Rey rolls her eyes and snaps the book shut before she turns around.

Kylo Ren now stands between Rey and the window, his face in its usual impassive mask. He’s clad in what Rey’s learned is his (ridiculously too tight) undershirt, and sweat glistens across the pale skin of his neck. His broad shoulders block out the sunlight, cloaking Rey in shadows. 

She can’t help but think this is slightly fitting, Kylo Ren spreading darkness wherever he appears. 

‘You know that’s not true; you know the light still lives in him,’ her wretched conscience whispers to her. 

She imagines using the Force to gag it, her own way of telling her traitorous mind to kindly shut the kriff up. 

Either way, the Supreme Leader’s now blocking her way to the couch, leaving Rey little room to maneuver. This presents a problem. The normal protocol between her and the Supreme Asshole is to pretend that neither is there, burying themselves in anything else to distract them and allow them to appear totally non-plussed at the connection opening. Rey also knows that she was the last one to break this pattern during that unfortunate incident where she’d forgotten her towel.

Even worse, the bastard _laughed_ at her after she locked herself in the ‘fresher, pretending to shave her legs (again). 

She absolutely cannot be the one to blink now, she vows, tightening her fist with resolve. Her eyes search the room for something to do that will also not reveal the Resistance’s location. 

The bouquet on the table’s out, as it’s filled with native flora from Naboo.

Same with the bookshelf filled with tomes on every facet of Nabian culture. That would be an unfortunately dead giveaway, Rey thinks. 

The only option she can think of, the least incriminating one, is the non-descript black journal in her hands, which (so far) barely mentions Naboo.

With pursed lips and a determined look, Rey re-opens the journal, deciding to remain standing as she read. She’d flipped open to another entry, this one where “AS” is anything but humble in describing a battle he’d help with for the Old Republic. Hell, by the way he describes it, he was the _only_ reason they won, and Rey has to bite her tongue to keep herself from remarking on the cockiness of the writer-

“What is that?” Kylo’s voice is calm, controlled, velvet over a fist of steel. There’s a tension beneath it, a curiosity that quivers in the Force. His yielding in their month-long silent game causes Rey to raise her eyes in shock, mouth hinging open in response. 

“I beg your pardon?” she finally asks, disbelieving.

“You heard me. What. Is. That?” There’s a dangerous undercurrent to his tone now, one that reminds Rey of the interrogation room and how he circled her like a lothcat, trying to bait her into revealing the map. It ignites a fire in Rey’s belly, one that compels her to toss her head back and smirk. 

“A book.”

“It’s a journal,” he glowers at her, dark eyes flashing with fire. It makes her mouth run dry and her heartbeat pound louder in her ears.

“How did you know that?”

“The Force. Our Bond. And I can see the top of the page from where I’m standing.” 

Kriffing tall Darksiders. 

Kylo’s got an odd, almost pained look on his face, and he steps closer. Rey resists the urge to step back and maintain the space between them, hardening her expression as she takes shallow breaths.

(To maintain her calm, of course. Definitely not because he smells like cedar and smoke, and that scent clings to her for hours after their meeting, driving her slowly insane.)

He’s looking at her quizzically, his eyes pools of chocolate that both terrify and electrify her veins. It’s that same look he gave her when they first connected, when he told her he could only see her, nothing else. 

“You have no idea who’s journal that is, do you?” he asks, his voice jumping slightly higher as he examines her eyes, her face. Rey knows he’s reading her through their Bond, and she clamps down on her mental shields as hard as she can. 

She’s too stubborn to admit that he’s right. But she’s also now determined to not let him see any more of it, so she steps back and snaps the notebook shut. Kylo follows, his long legs easily making up the distance and then some. Rey steps back again, her back running up against the shelves behind her. She hopes to the Gods that he can’t see them now, that it just looks like she’s up against some invisible wall.

He steps forward again, closing in on her and she presses herself further into the bookshelf. _The Political Families of Naboo_ digs into that tender spot under her shoulderblade, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of wincing. Not when he’s so close that she can feel warm tendrils of his breath against her cheek, his scent, tinged with the slightest bit of musk and salt from his sweat, curling around her and drowning her senses. 

“Give me the book, Rey,” he says evenly, calmly, and Rey wants to scream at how little of an effect she has on him when he’s making her as skittish as a fathier. Her mouth’s cotton-dry, and she licks her lips nervously.

Kylo’s eyes, those damned eyes, drop down to her mouth, watching her tongue intently. Something flickers in them, something that makes Rey’s stomach coil pleasurably, something that sets off every alarm bell in her head.

“The book, Rey,” he murmurs, the compulsion of the Force sweetening his words as they try to sear into her brain. It’s a reminder of the game he’s playing, one that Rey can’t let him win. 

“Kriff you,” she snarls, and tries to push past him. There’s a second of pawing at each other, him trying to keep her there and her trying to escape, before she’s able to wiggle out from his attempted bear hug and get away from his grip. 

“That book is mine,” he growls, eyes now furious at her denial. 

“Says who?” she shoots back imperiously. Of all the nerve…

“You really have no idea what you’re holding, do you?” He’s shocked at this, as if her lack of knowledge when it comes to “Who’s who in the Jedi Order” really kriffing matters, considering that they’re all long-dead. 

Then he lunges at her, and she steps back, raising her arm so the book’s over her head and angled back. She realizes that if she stops touching it, he shouldn’t be able to see it (the Bond only reveals objects that one of them is touching), and so she tilts her arm back even further before hurling it forward, pitching the book towards the open window behind him. It sails in the air, her aim true, and -

Jerks suddenly to the side as Kylo grabs it with the Force, bringing it into his outstretched palm. 

“Oh, what in the everloving kriff!” she shouts, before pouncing at him. He easily steps to the side, causing Rey to fly into the beautifully carved side table, knocking it and the bouquet on top over. Petals and water rain down, soaking Rey’s head and shoulders.

“You nerfherder!” she yells as she returns to her feet, trying not to let her embarrassment show. 

“According to your logic with my family lightsaber, if it comes to you when called by the Force, it’s yours.” Kylo’s grinning now, actually smiling, and Rey would be shell-shocked if she wasn’t so pissed off. “So, I guess the matter’s been settled. The journal’s mine.”

“Go kiss a wookie!”

“Tsk, so much temper for a Jedi.”

And then the Force does something exceptionally cruel - it takes Kylo’s side and disconnects them. The Bond closes like a sword cutting through it, and the sounds of Naboo come rushing back to Rey. 

As well as the sounds of panicked footsteps running in her direction. 

“Kriff,” she swears again.

====================== 

Kylo Ren can’t believe his luck. Not only did the Scavenger somehow locate one of his grandfather’s personal journals, but she didn’t even realize what she was holding. And then he’d caught her so off guard that he’d been able to take it from her.

Nevermind the fact that he also almost kissed her, and got the distinct sense that she wouldn’t have slapped him if he tried. At least, not immediately, which was promising (given the current state of their relationship). 

But he’s absolutely not going to think about that. Nor will he focus on how Rey’s body felt pressed up against him as they wrestled. (She smelled like flowers and sunshine, her breasts pressing against the back of his arm as he tried to pin her.) 

‘Great,’ he thinks, now he’s getting another boner. It really can’t be healthy to walk around with blue balls all day, and especially when it keeps happening. Force, after that little ‘fresher mishap with her missing towel, he’d almost had to go to the infirmary due to a naggingly persistent erection that lasted for two day cycles. 

The Supreme Leader of the First Order violently shakes his head to clear these prurient thoughts from his mind. The movement makes his shaggy black tendrils flying around, smacking against his skin. He has no business thinking about Rey in such a manner, given that nothing between them will ever happen. 

He should be focusing on the journal in his hands. His grandfather’s journal. Ever since he stole it from Rey earlier today, he’s been devouring it between meetings, trying to read as much of it as possible before they Force connects him again. 

When it does, he knows she’ll be waiting for him.

So far, Anakin Skywalker’s diary has been… well, it’s been interesting, to say the least. Much of it falls into four categories: Snark, Angst, War Stories, and the rare tidbit about his research into the Force. There’s been nothing world-shattering about it so far in the last category, but Kylo’s much more intrigued by the rest. That has proven to be far more revelatory, reading how his grandfather wrestled with his growing darkness in a painfully familiar manner. Anakin’s love for his wife and their unborn children is another prominent theme, as well as his fears for them. His concern even lead Anakin to research Force Bonds in an attempt to form one with the unborn twins. This is undoubtedly what drew Rey to the journal, although in the end, Anakin’s ultimately unsuccessful at forging one and discovers nothing that Kylo (and ergo, Rey) didn’t already know.

Kylo smirks as he finishes reading an entry where his grandfather recounts how he smugly reminded Obi-Wan Kenobi (identified by his initials) of how handy his grandfather’s tweaks to his X-Wing were in their latest battle. The brashness is so opposite from his treacherous uncle’s personality. If anything, it’s more like his mother’s temperament, and oh, how delicious that irony is. 

He flips the page and begins reading, only for his face to blanch and the book to tumble from his fingers like its burned him. Bile bubbles in his throat as he desperately tries to erase the memory of the words he’d just read: a very explicit tribute to Padmé Amidala’s breasts. 

His grandmother’s breasts. 

Karking Force, he thinks with a gag. He’ll never look at Nabian pears the same way again. 

He bends down to pick up the small black book again when that familiar whoosh of a Force connection fills his ears. The sound makes him pull his hand back, before very quickly using the Force to slide the book under his bed, hidden from her view. 

Then he unfurls himself back to a standing position, just in time for Rey to dive into his stomach at full force, tackling him to the ground. 

He lands with an oof and a smack, his head bouncing against the hard steel floor of his chambers. ‘Great, another concussion,’ he thinks woozily. It’s a miracle he still remembers his own name.

“WHERE. IS. IT?” Rey demands, and Force, if she isn’t gorgeous like this. Rage makes her eyes flash emerald, and dusts her cheeks with a rosy hint. Her small bosom heaves with indignation, the weight of her body pressed against his chest as she straddles him. She’s trying to use her size to pin him down, something which… isn’t going to help one of his issues anytime soon. 

Kylo sighs. 

This is not the reaction she’s looking for. “GIVE IT BACK,” she screeches, her voice dripping with malice. 

Briefly, he contemplates his options: throw her off and start a physical fight (fun, but likely to leave one or both of them with a new scar); tell her to go to Hell (which will end with the first option); or, his personal favorite, tease the everloving Force out of her.

Because Kylo Ren is a Skywalker and a Solo, he (naturally) chooses the latter. 

“Give what back?” he scowls, knowing better than to grin.

“You know exactly what. The journal. _Anakin Skywalker’s_ journal.” she hisses. 

“Oh, so, you finally figured it out?”

“OF COURSE I figured- I always knew whose it was,” she lies, unconvincingly. 

“So you understand that it’s mine, then.”

“The Force revealed it to _me_.”

“And the Force let me take it. Which, again, according to your own rules, means it belongs to _me._ ” He’s gloating, which he knows is dangerous, but Force, is she stunning when she dances with the Dark Side. 

“You kriffing bastard!” 

“Well, that’s not very nice to your beloved General.”

Rey responds with an unintelligible growl, before using the Force to pin his arms and head down. It’s a Force hold he could easily break, her rage making her sloppy. But, it’s keeping her distracted as she pats him down, and allows Kylo to very subtly nudge the book further under the bed, till it’s completely out of sight. 

Rey’s small, talented hands move down over his pecs, and he can’t help but smirk when he sees her lips purse further, her eyes darkening ever so slightly as she runs her hands over his muscles. She scootches her body downwards, lifting up her pelvis so she can keep searching. 

He quickly vetoes fighting back. Not when he knows she won’t find it (and he’s enjoying her attempts). 

Instead, he tenses his abs so she can’t discover any of his ticklish spots (she’ll totally use this against him in battle and he knows it). His smirk grows wider and wider, reveling in the feeling of her fingers on him - that is, until she starts searching his pants pockets. 

Kylo freezes. 

Then her nimble fingers start gliding across the front of his trousers, and alarm bells start blaring in Kylo’s mind. He starts frantically pushing against her Force hold, cursing at how strong she’s gotten. He’s almost free when Rey slides her palm over his unfortunately awake cock (again? Wasn’t he supposed to grow out of this?), and halts. 

Then the little minx starts feeling it, her face scrunching with confusion as she tries to determine what it is. 

Kriffing Force, Kylo Ren’s found heaven and hell, and of course, Rey’s at the center of it. 

“That’s… not a journal.” he manages to choke out, and Rey freezes. Her eyes start to widen with realization, and Kylo Ren accepts his fate. 

“Is… that your saber?” she squeaks, her hand still curled around his achingly hard shaft. He shakes his head, refusing to open his mouth or exhale for fear of what might come out. 

“Oh,” she gaps, the connection finally being made. And then, “OH!” she flies up, off of Kylo and onto her feet. Her shock gives him the leverage to break through her Force hold, and he manages to jump up onto his feet. It’s an impressive show of acrobatic skill, given that half of the blood in his body is flowing to his dick.

He tries really, really hard to look formidable, threatening, even. Anything to distract Rey from the tented fabric of his pants and - kriff, she’s looking again. 

“Rey,” he growls, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted. 

“I… I had no idea… I’m so sorry, that was very, uh… inappropriate of me, and uh…” she stammers, her entire face turning from pink to crimson as her racing mind tries to grapple with the consequences of what she just did. 

_It’s still hard! Why is it so hard? And big! Force, I didn’t know they came that big._

Apparently, Rey’s mental shields are also incapacitated, and so he hears her thoughts ringing through his mind like they belong to him. He’s not going to lie, that last part fills him with masculine pride and makes him feel cocky. 

Too cocky. 

“It’s still hard because you touched it, sweetheart.” The words fly past his lips before he can catch them, and she balks.

“Then why was it hard before I started … that?” she snaps back.

There’s really no good way to answer that, he thinks. 

“No shit,” she responds verbally, and kriff, Kylo’s let his own shields slip. He hastily repairs them, praying for the Force to disconnect them now and end his misery. 

She’s looking at him again, this time with with lidded eyes, worrying that damn bottom lip of hers between her teeth again. It’s so pink and plump, and when she releases it he can see how swollen it is. It makes him want to worry it between his own teeth, to suck it into his mouth and taste her, with those coy eyes and fluttering black lashes. 

“Rey,” he half-groans, resolve starting to crumble as he steps towards her. He hears her breath hitching in her throat, but she doesn’t step back. Instead, she tilts her head up, towards him, her eyes locked into his.

And that’s when the Force disconnects them, leaving a very frustrated and confused Kylo Ren in its wake. He stares at the spot where Rey had just been standing before releasing a long, frustrated sigh. 

“We have got to stop ending it like this,” he grumbles to his now empty chambers. 

As always, the Force does not respond.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, uh, that was... look, y'all, my muse has been ignoring me because she's mad at what I did in Safe Harbor, so I needed to do something. And it was this little drabble, and then I thought, well, why the fuck not post it. I can always delete it, right? 
> 
> As always, I blame my beloved fellow crackheads at TWD, and dedicate this drabble to Sprinty, for cockblocking harder than a Force Bond. 
> 
> If any of you are crazy enough to like this, let me know in the comments down below. Maybe I'll make a whole series of awkward borderline smutty Force Bond one-shots if enough people like this. Or maybe I'll be a good girl and stick to the angst from now on.


End file.
